At birth, the child carries the womb out and unfurls it, but it keeps unfurling as the child grows into an adult, and never ceases unfolding until the material is rolled back up like a rug put back into a box with other rolls in deep storage. Patterns interlock across endless fabrics knitting themselves together into a greater common rug known as existence. The inside is always the outside. No matter how deep one unfolds into the experience of consciousness, a surface awaits, for the interior is its own exterior. The womb was never left behind but carried out with the other countless re-wombings that populate the planet, the greatest womb through which all of her wombs birth themselves into a singular consciousness segmented only by the illusion of corporeal cells called bodies. The spin of the great mutual unfurling of all wombs coincides with and inhabits the greatest womb hurling through the deep space of greater wombs yet to be eventually carried through the vacuum of a black hole again otherwise known as the rebirth canal.
Did you know that the potato inspired deer to grow antlers? Neither did I. But apparently potato hungry deer began sprouting their own antlers after countless years of tater munching. And certain northern European tribes that roamed in tandem with these wild deer had a trophy to bestow upon only the bravest of wanderers: the heart of the spud.
This phenomenon has also been documented in the Americas where the heart of the cactus was also bestowed as a trophy of bravery.
Why else does the immensity of this space exist bound by the heaviness of this sea and cliff but for the most delicate of forms to sway and flow in the mimicry of something ineffable like a floral jellyfish or an illuminated nautilus whose static dance inhabits the gestures of Isadora Duncan stinging this spiral between weight and weightlessness?
Here is a pareidolia test derived from mundane random material of course. A homunculus wears a donkey mask to worship at the altar of an ancient serpent deity?
If vision itself were visible, it would gush out like a current of foamy water from a facade of bone. If language were visible, it would be seen swirling in and out of the cranium like the sea flowing through a cave. If tranquility were visible, it would be a skull suspended by the flow of what it contains.
Look at the way she tumbles into forms in the sky. How she shrivels as if in a sweet agony for all she provides. Her nourishment to the cochineal. Her milk flowing for the wrens. Her surreal limbs an absurd perch for lizards. Her crooked windows perfect for spiderwebs to catch flying morsels.
This wild canopy cages the hill like gnarled hands rising out of their giant burials. These mad sculptors of fruit radiant with needles that mimic sunrays! What strange journey left these bent up propellers behind to worship the sun?
I cannot depict what I see in my head with any accuracy but I cannot stop trying to find the metaphors. The randomness of existence is the only rule left. And that used to sound demoralizing to me but not anymore because everything I experience seems beyond my capacity. Everything slips through my skin. Nothing is contained. Gravity is the only temporal bond. Movement is existence. Light splatters on wet ground. The ground becomes the light. The light brings the darkness yet darkness is not mere emptiness. Emptiness is not alone. Emptiness has the greatest potential as that from which any patterns emerge. Each image can only be an iteration of something never whole or complete. What is caught or exposed (for lack of a better word) between these iterations is the point of stringing them together. The wall space is the wet plate.
Down by the concrete river, the spirits arise from patches of datura where the spiral that became a pinwheel stretches itself again to take on the form of ghostly plant emanations pollinated by the consciousness of any wanderer who lingers long enough for the vegetal spirits to unfurl their psychoactive shapeshifting tendrils and guide the awareness toward the unity of all things through the merging of forms and the collective existence of iterative semblances.